The balance finally tipped between Katie’s need to get away and her need to collapse, as she passed a long copse of trees. She ducked under the verge and dropped to the soil.
Southwest slope.
Bluebells.
Her eyes automatically tracked through the dim evening light, picking out the trail and the distinctive markings of a badger sett. Badgers dug long tunnels and the dirt had to go somewhere. Typically it created a defensive mound straight out of the tunnel. One of the proofs that it was a badger hole was their distinctive track—out of the hole, then a hard right or left turn to get clear. A more agile fox would come right over the top of the mound to look around.
There were also multiple holes, just three rather than the big clan by the airport that had ten easily visible tunnels, but mo
